When I came to live in Ireland, it did not take long for me to fall in love with its misty landscape and scattered ancient ruins. They drew me in; I felt at once connected and intrigued. Leaving behind the realms of accepted Irish history I plunged into the shadowy domain of Irish mythology, and that was where I first encountered the Tuatha de Danann.
Stories of the Danann were passed down through the ages into legend via the ancient oral tradition of the poets. Later, Christian monks began assembling and recording them in an effort to produce a history for Ireland. Inevitably, these texts were influenced by their beliefs and doctrines, their translation skills (or lack of), and the desire to please their patrons. What we are left with is impossible to distil into fact and fiction.
These myths are so fantastic, so bizarre, that no scholar or historian worth his salt would ever entertain them as anything other than pure fantasy.
But I am not a scholar, and I don’t have to worry about academic reputation, and I say there is no smoke without fire.